Page 11 of Hush Money

Honestly, he looks so unhinged right now. He sounds so paranoid. I don’t know what to think. “But… You have all the resources in the world. Why didn’t you hire someone to follow her? Or just kick her out and be done with it?”

Another hollow laugh. “That’s easy. Pride. I’m supposed to be this powerful man. You think I wanted to admit to the world what was going on behind closed doors? It was hard enough to admit it to myself and to discuss it when I hired the private investigators.”

“I know you hate to admit it, but I just can’t believe you never wanted to divorce her if she put you through all that.”

“Oh, I did. I’d had it. Two days before she disappeared in her boating accident, we had it out. I told her it was over. That I wanted a divorce. But she said she’d never let me go. And the next thing I know, she disappeared.”

“Wait, what?” I say, incredulity getting the best of me again. “Are you saying you think she faked all this to get out of you divorcing her?”

He levels that hard gaze on me. “I’m saying that painful experience has taught me to never underestimate what Ravenna will do to maintain control. To win.”

I stare at this man I thought I knew, if only a little bit, my head spinning. He looks so serious and sounds so delusional. Ravenna seems so normal and fragile. Who would fake their own death to get out of a divorce? How could anyone possibly get away with it? Yet Lucien believes it. And I've always believed Lucien.

“Oh my God,” I say, collapsing on the sofa. My knees suddenly feel way too wobbly to keep me upright. “I don’t know what to believe.”

“Believe me.”

“My head is spinning,” I say, putting my elbows on my knees and resting my head in my hands.

“I know it is, angel.” His voice sounds softer as he comes over to sit beside me. “I hate that you’re in the middle of my mess. And you’re even taking care of her. Despite everything.”

“Because I’m a nurse,” I say, sitting up and bristling at the implication that I’d ever do otherwise.

His expression radiates unmistakable admiration. “Because you’re an amazing woman.”

“You’re taking care of her, too, despite your feelings for her. I guess that makes both of us amazing.”

“I’m not amazing,” he says, sounding gravelly now. “I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

“Same.”

The conversation tapers off after that. So there we are, staring into each other’s eyes at close range. He seems kind again. Calm. Loving. The clean and woodsy scent of his cologne smells so familiar. Everything feels normal, if you temporarily ignore the part about his resurrected wife and her insane backstory. And it’s such a relief for him to be right there, within arm’s reach, and to know that he still wants me. Despite everything.

His attention flickers down to my mouth. He leans closer, ducking his head into kissing range. “Tamsyn…”

I find my eyes drifting closed and my chin tipping up. My world is rainbows and silk sheets again. Until that split second when his fingertips brush my cheek and a jagged spark of sensation jolts me back to my senses.

What are you doing, Tamsyn? What the hell are you doing?

I turn my head at the last possible second. “Don’t.”

He rumbles with frustration but backs off immediately. “I can’t touch you now?”

It’s a good thing I’m not looking in his face. It’s hard enough hearing the wounded note in his voice without also seeing it there. “Your resurrected and injured wife is down the hall. I’m the interloper in her home. In her marriage. I’m trying to do the right thing here. Please make it easy for me.”

He slumps against the back of the sofa. A long silence follows. Then there’s a harsh sigh. “Fine. But don’t leave. Please.”

I make a disbelieving sound and turn back to him. “It’s not like I want to leave. But how can I stay?”

“Because I’m going to divorce her,” he says, hunching down in my face, so I can see how dead serious he is. “We would’ve been long divorced by now if she hadn’t disappeared.”

He’s saying all the right things, and it all sounds like the answer to my prayers. But I can’t plan my happiness on someone else’s misfortune. “You can’t just divorce her. She’s clearly been through trauma. She needs you.”

“And I need you,” he says fervently and huskily.

I wish I could tell you that I’m immune when he unleashes all that intensity on me. That I keep my focus locked in on the morality of the situation the way Dad would have wanted me to. But I’d be lying.

“You’re being selfish, Lucien.”

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